The Guilt on the Chessboard
by macrauchenia
Summary: "Pelant's morbid curiosity was piqued, and he wanted to turn to see whether or not the pawn was capable of promoting himself. Whether or not young Dr. Sweets was capable of murder. Then the earsplitting explosion from the gun rocked the Jeffersonian, and both young men swayed violently on their feet." - AU ending/speculation for Season 8 Finale -


**Timeframe/Info About This Fic: **This is my AU speculation/possible Season 8 Finale.  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to their rightful owners.  
**Authors Note: **Oh my gosh. Why can't I write anything fluffy?  
Anyway, when I first heard about a few of the spoilers for the Season 8 finale (most notably, "Sweets will be immediately affected"), this demonic little idea popped into my head. Since then, future spoilers have ruined my finale theory, but you guys can hopefully still enjoy an AU version of how it _won't _play out xD

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"I thought I was being generous, Agent Booth. I never meant to actually _hurt _you or your friends." The obviously faked sincere tone in the hacktivist's voice only caused the downed agent to squirm more fiercely. "But then you went and had to shoot me in the face." The young man frowned, the scarred skin on the right side of his face stretching tautly.

Booth glared up at Pelant, but there was little else he could do except breathe thickly through his teeth from rage and pain. If he shifted in any direction, sharp needles of pain would flair from his right shoulder and his left thigh from close range bullet wounds. Pelant had all but stood over Booth and fired two quick shots to incapacitate the greatest threat.

Christopher Pelant was now starting to ramble gloatingly as he assessed his progress in the confine and take down of the entire Jeffersonian squad.

"Dr. Brennan was disappointingly easy to collect," the deranged young man almost sounded sad at losing such a challenge. "I only had to threaten the life of your daughter and she practically tied herself up. I thought she would at least try to stop me with one of her blustery brain threats, but no luck." He smiled toothily at the fallen FBI agent. The smile did not suit the young man well: his replaced and mangled skin wasn't as fluid as his natural skin, causing an abnormal, imp-like lift in the man's expression. The female captive was roughly bound in the center of the room by rough rope-like material that was used during investigations. Although she was gagged, her stormy expression certainly revealed the murderous words on her spiked, broiling tongue. "After she was taken care of, I only had to make a few more threats to ensure that everyone else fell into line." Cam was as close as she could be to Booth without violating the "proximity clause" Pelant had issued from the beginning. Hodgins had tried to defy this little rule in order to help Booth out, but for his troubles he received a violent pistol blow to the head. Angela was cradling her semi-lucid husband's head in her lap while glaring daggers into Pelant. Part of the young woman was glad her husband was unable to move, otherwise he would have all but sprung at Pelant's neck with barred teeth and most likely would have been slaughtered immediately with the more dangerous side of the weapon.

"You must really love your child and her mother, Agent Booth, otherwise you wouldn't have barreled in here _alone_ the moment you heard my voice. _Typical _Seeley Booth." Booth refused to answer, angling his head as far away from the madman as he possibly could without gasping in pain.

"What do you want, Pelant?" Angela demanded, stroking her husband's sweaty temple gently. "Haven't you done enough damage already?"

The computer hacker-turned-murder rounded on the young couple with a scarred grimace. "As I told you before, Ms. Montenegro, I was only playing a _game._"

"You consider murder a _game_?"

Pelant's hard expression landed firmly on Booth. "It was until he shot me and changed the rules."

"I'm just sorry I missed," Booth growled out with what he hoped to be a confident, rebellious smile. However, he had the sinking feeling it looked more like a pained scowl.

"If you aren't playing a game anymore, then what is this?"

Pelant lazily turned towards the latest speaker. "Doctor Saroyan. Of all the Jeffersonian staff, I think we've crossed paths the least."

"And that's something I'm quite grateful for."

A humorless smile shifted briefly across Pelant's face before disappearing back into the ubiquitous sneer that was always on his scarred face forever more.

"I'm preparing my final charge to your first white rank." The extended chess metaphor was lost on most of the people except for Brennan, who started to spit sporadically behind her gag. Interested as to what the genius might say, Pelant turned back to Cam.

"Dr. Saroyan, if you would be so kind, please remove Dr. Brennan's gag so she can speak. I'm interested to hear what she'll say on the topic." His dark brown eyes narrowed curiously on the forensic anthropologist.

Wiping her hands disdainfully on her sides, Cam slowly stood up, walked stiffly towards Brennan, and loosened the rag around her friend's mouth.

Dr. Brennan licked her lips to return the moisture back to her swollen and tingling mouth. "If you consider us to be the living instruments of your _game, _then surely we must each resemble a piece."

The conscious squinterns frowned at the implied question, but Pelant seemed to regard it with a satisfied curiosity. "Let me think for a moment," he started, drawing the unscarred side of his mouth into a wry expression. "Obviously you are the Queen, Doctor Brennan. Powerful, dangerous," his dark eyes glinted sharply, "and an easy target. Agent Booth would be the King for his ties to you and for his gratingly dutiful sense of gullibility when his loved ones are in danger. He seems to be the weakest piece when no one else seems to be around. Doctor Saroyan, I would assume you are most like the rook—compliant, straightforward, and so, so stony at times." He turned towards the married couple on the floor. "Dr. Hodgins strikes me as a knight. Virtually useless except for the periodical surprise attack. Besides," he sneered at the semi-conscious entomologist, "both most likely have fleas. His lovely wife plays the role of the bishop—flighty, elegant, and very tricky to lock down."

His blank gaze surveyed his imaginary chessboard and he frowned. "You are, however, missing one not so crucial piece." Pelant turned back to Booth. "I am a bit disappointed you didn't bring Doctor Sweets with you, but I suppose we'll have to wait patiently for his invitation to come in the mail. Hopefully he won't keep us waiting."

"If everyone is designated a role in your hypothetical chess game, then what is Sweets' purpose?" Brennan questioned. Internally, she was disgusted by her thorough interest in the allusion of her team to plastic game pieces. As with everything that Pelant pondered up, the comparisons seemed to be almost sound.

Pelant shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm surprised you asked, Dr. Brennan. He is obviously a pawn. The youngest, least experienced player who blindly follows the orders of the King," Pelant nodded towards Booth. "He's desperate to do anything to please his higher-ups. Besides—psychologists and pawns alike are merely a 'dime-a-dozen.' Otherwise, why else would there be so many? Anyone can spout psychotic mumbo-jumbo about the brain that has yet to be proven. Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Brennan?"

There was a low click behind the murderer and his dark eyes flicked upwards. Dr. Brennan suppressed a smile at the sight of the person behind Pelant. She felt a surge of warmth towards the psychologist, and reminded herself to later compliment the young man's work at least once in thanks.

"It seems you have forgotten a key rule in the game of chess, Pelant, regarding the pawns. They are the only piece capable of being promoted into a more dangerous role."

The computer hacker smiled darkly, the right side of his face straining gruesomely. "I'm glad you were able to join us, Dr. Sweets. Were you present for the entire conversation?" The young man refused to turn and face the psychologist. Instead, his steely gaze focused solely on Booth, although the injured FBI agent was also watching the young man behind his assailant.

"I heard." Sweets muttered. His white-knuckled grip on the handle of his gun didn't shake, but his thin, gaunt face looked worried as he surveyed the damage Pelant had inflicted upon his friends. "What could you possibly want from a pawn like me?"

"No need to sound so dejected, Dr. Sweets. I didn't necessarily infer that pawns were _bad. _Only that they are the weakest piece on the board. The weakest _link._"

The muscle in the young doctor's jaw jumped painfully. He swallowed thickly, trying to force away a drowning sense of déjà vu that was rising up in his throat. _He couldn't possibly know what she said to me that day. I destroyed the tape. _However, Sweets had a sick feeling as he realized that this was Pelant he was talking about. If the madman could write cipher on bone and infiltrate a mercenary office, it was unlikely that a smashed tape could stop him.

The young psychologist savagely fought away his doubt and lifted the gun a bit higher in the air. He trained it on the base of Pelant's skull where it connected to his neck. "Drop your weapon, Pelant, otherwise I will shoot." A faraway conversation with Hodgins filtered through his mind. _Pelant _wants _to be killed. It would be the perfect way to win the game. _

"Young Dr. Sweets believes himself to be grown up with his own gun." Pelant chuckled humorlessly, but refused to release his own weapon. He lazily lifted his own gun and trained it on Booth's wide chest.

"_Drop your gun!" _Sweets insisted sharply through his teeth. His grip on his gun tightened painfully and he was struck with a horrible thought that he might have to shoot the hacker after all.

Without even seeing the young psychologist's face, Pelant seemed to understand the fear that was coursing through the former's veins. "If you shoot me, would I be your first kill, Dr. Sweets?" The young man refused to answer. "I'm not sure whether to be honored or mortified. A _sweet_, mild-mannered shrink shooting a ruthless killer in the back. You'd certainly be sent to therapy for a while after that." The young man was still silent. Pelant's sharp gaze raked across Booth's face, using the older FBI agent as a mirror to catch a glimpse of the younger agent without turning around. The former soldier's face was pale, but whether it was from worry or the pain, Pelant was unable to deduce certainly. Agent Booth's dark eyes were locked steadily with what Pelant assumed to be the psychologist's gaze, but again he was unable to be positive.

The hacker's low voice could barely be heard over the soft whirling machinery of the Jeffersonian; his message was meant for Sweets to hear alone.

"You and I both know that you won't take the shot." Pelant tore his stare from Booth and scanned his other prisoners. They were watching the young doctor as well with varying shades of worry and confusion. "Even to save your friends, _our_ family, you won't kill me. You're afraid of becoming me." His scarred smirk tilted upwards without humor.

Sweets desperately wanted to say something witty, brave, or Booth-like, but all that came out of his mouth was a hushed "you're wrong."

"Then prove it." Without even looking at the special agent, Pelant shot a bullet directly into the ground in front of Booth. The projectile shattered the hard floor, exploding a spray of stone particulates and debris across Booth's very shocked expression.

At the sound of the loud, resonating _boom_, Sweets visibly cringed and instantly hated his cowardice. He refocused his gun on the base of Pelant's skull again, but his aim was shaky at best. He tried to take a calming breath, but the sight of Booth's near death terrified him more than he wanted to admit it.

"I suppose you really aren't a pawn. I shot at your king—you are supposed to defend him, no matter the cost." Pelant scowled at a glaring Booth. "Are you ready to admit tha—"

_Pelant is right—Booth is counting on me. Booth and Dr. Brennan and Cam and Angela and Hodgins. I'm supposed to have their back. _In a sudden surge of lightning courage, Sweets soothed his trembling hands and tightened his grip on his gun. "I won't ask again, Pelant. Drop your weapon," he ordered in a cool, quake-less tone.

The change in the young psychologist's voice caused Pelant to stiffen. His smirk slipped briefly before returning at a strained half-light. "Is this true? Doctor Sweets has grown a backbone. No doubt you used some psycho technique on yourself to give you a pathetic confidence boost." Sweets bit the corner of his lip, but remained silent. With Pelant's back turned, he had no way to see the flittering expression of doubt on the young psychologist's face. "But then you must know you've only lied to yourself." The hacker smiled faintly. "I've read your psych textbooks, Dr. Sweets. Psychology never quite has the same effect when it is forced back upon the shrink. It tends to be less permanent. You still won't take the shot. I know you won't and I don't even have to look at your face."

Sweets forced his face into a stony expression didn't waiver. "Then look me in the eyes now and tell me again."

The obvious shift in the psychologist's demeanor and tone caused Pelant to hesitant before beginning his next damaging gloat. Uncertainty flickered briefly through the madman's dark, soulless pits that served as his eyes. His morbid curiosity was piqued and he wanted to turn to see whether or not the pawn was capable of promoting himself. _Dr. Hodgins_, he reminded himself, _had once been a pawn as well._

A foreboding grin settled across the young man's marred face as the thrill of the game settled into his thick skull and seeped through his skin. He was genuinely curious as to whether or not Dr. Sweets was capable of murder. Pelant turned slightly and caught a brief glimpse of his opponent's glinting glare.

The earsplitting explosion from a gun rocked the Jeffersonian, causing the downed squints and Booth to cringe. The only other loud sound was Angela's brief reactionary scream. Blood and bits of flesh exploded from the entrance wound from the bullet. For a moment, there was absolute stillness and silence.

Both of the armed young men swayed violently on their feet. Pelant and Sweets were both covered with crimson strains and pieces of scalded skin. The two young men locked glassy gazes with one another as the life fled from the dark eyes of one of the geniuses. The latter collapsed to his knees while Pelant tipped forward, his skull partially unhinging from the base of his neck as his dead body fell to the ground with a sickening _splat. _The scarred side of his face was hidden within a pool of deep crimson, while his slightly gaped mouth seemed to be trying to get one last sip of the lifeblood. His head and part of his shredded neck was tilted at an impossible angle away from the rest of his body.

As the ruby river slowly dribbled towards the shocked psychologist; the warm, sticky liquid filled in every crease and wrinkle in his palms. His bloodstained gun was still gripped tightly in his trembling hand. Hitched gasps were pulled roughly from the young man's throat as if he were trying to gag himself. The sour bile rose in his throat to choke and overwhelm him, but he couldn't displace it. With red-rimmed, glassy eyes fixed on nothing, Sweets lifted his shaking gun back in the air, causing tiny dribbles of blood to run into his sleeve. It was nearly impossible to tell what the psychologist was possibly aiming at, since his quaking hand was jerking in all directions. His free hand, which was firmly fixed flat on the cold stone floor, curled into a hard fist, leaving behind a brief blood smear.

While the others were staring at the mangled body of Pelant and the traumatized young psychologist, Cam was the first to understand the dangers they were still in. She had served long enough in New York to know the signs of instant remorse. Many a time she had seen cases where someone killed another in cold blood, then turned the trigger on themselves to clear their excruciating conscious. The trembling gun in the psychologist's fist slowly turned in his own direction, as if it had a mind of its own. The young man was completely oblivious to his body's betrayal.

Before she even knew she was moving, Dr. Saroyan was already falling to her knees beside Sweets. She could care less about her expensive outfit as she wrapped one thin arm around the young man and wrestled the gun out of his tight grip. The moment she was able to disarm the boy, she locked the safety and threw the still warm gun as far away from them as she possibly could, as if ridding themselves of it would free their young psychologist and remove Pelant's stain. It spun with a loud clatter away into a dark corner, the sound causing Sweets to cringe. Cam was free to wrap her other arm around Sweets' thin, quaking frame and drew him closer to her own shivering body. The psychologist squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into her shoulder so he didn't have to look at his crime any longer.

"Shh," she whispered, briefly closing her own eyes. She tried to imagine herself into another place, but the cooling, sticky sensation of blood seeping into her dress and Sweets' shaking reminded her sharply that she had just witnessed the death of a murderer. Gasping, muffled sobs sounded from her shoulder and Cam tried to soothingly pat the psychologist's head. She closed her eyes again. For a moment, it almost seemed as if she were in the past, comforting a young Michelle after a particularly nasty nightmare, but her crimson-stained fingers kept tangling in the young man's curly hair, nearly causing her to gag.

"It's going to be alright," she murmured into Sweets' ear. "Shhh…" She had seen hundreds of traumatized victims in her time, and many from Pelant alone, but a searing sense of fury ignited in her bones as she realized that this too was a part of Pelant's game. Even in death, he managed to torture them. Her eyes burned with salty, hot tears, but they didn't overflow from her lashes as she was struck by the terrible thought that their young, goofy Sweets was never to be the same again. Pelant purposely skewered the baby of their team—even though Cam knew Sweets was of legal drinking age, she still seemed to refuse believing he was out of his training pants.

_It's never going to be alright. _

A movement in her peripheral vision nearly caused Cam to jump. She calmed her racing heart as she realized it wasn't Pelant back from the dead, but Brennan at her side. The coroner glanced back at the somber faces of her teammates and felt her heart twist painfully. Hodgins had seemed to gain a bit of his lucidity again and had shuffled over to Booth. The former was looking everywhere but at Sweets or the dead serial killer. Booth's tired gaze was focused solely on Sweets. He briefly locked gazes with Cam and seemed to say "_thank you." _As a person who had pondered ending it all before, he had eventually recognized the signs as well. But never would have managed to get to the boy before something drastic happened.

Dr. Saroyan returned the look with a sad "_Will _he_ thank us?"._ Booth avoided her gaze.

Once Hodgins had moved from Angela, she was immediately up and untying her best friend. Bones carefully stepped around Pelant's cooled pool of blood and stood silently beside Cam and the young psychologist. Sweets' shudders had grown less violent, and he seemed to calming down from his ordeal or succumbing to shock. Either way, the boy was completely silent apart from the periodical hitched gasp he would choke out.

The faint whirling of a siren filled the silent Jeffersonian. Cam buried her own face into the shoulder of the forever-damaged young man and sighed.

If Pelant wasn't already dead, she would have ripped him apart herself.

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What is a happy ending? And where can I find one?  
Anways, I'm thinking of extending this to an aftermath chapter. Yes? No? Stopping torturing the Baby Duck?  
**Thank you so much for reading!**


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